


Double-Edged Swords Dance

by snatent



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-14 12:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9181915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snatent/pseuds/snatent
Summary: Guzma and Lusamine are both going after the things they want. Guzma learns the hard way what happens when those things are very different.





	1. Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to goomygoomy on Tumblr for taking a look before I posted, and to Sean, who (I have on good authority) loves the discourse.

As far as kidnappings went, this one wasn't so bad. At least, it didn't feel like it was too bad. Guzma had never been kidnapped before, so he had no frame of reference. And he wasn't a kid anymore, so he guessed maybe he'd missed the boat on getting napped like one.

They called it an ‘escorted invitation’ when they approached him outside the Pokemon Center, but he could tell by the way they said it he couldn't refuse. He followed the two dressed in white from head to toe down to the docks and boarded their special submarine, all without either of them having to lay a hand on him.

The sub interior was as white and pristine as his escorts. It felt more like stepping into a doctor's office than anything else, and Guzma shivered unconsciously at the thought before being told to take a seat anywhere, they'd be with him in a moment.

There was a strange silence as he acclimated to his new surroundings. One of the staff returned with bottled water. Guzma drank it quickly, as though he hadn't had something to drink in years.

"To be honest," said the woman, "we hadn't expected you to just come along with us."

Guzma took her tentative tone as a compliment. He smirked, propping his feet up on the table and leaning back in his seat.

"Never say no to free stuff," he said. “Especially submarine rides.” In truth he wasn't the type to come quietly, and whoever had sent these poor bastards after his scent had probably warned them of that. But he was bored, and he found the prospect of seeing Aether Paradise up close interesting. "What did you say I'm in for again?"

"The president would just like to speak with you."

He snorted. "What does the president want with a guy like me?"

She only shrugged.

When the sub reached the man-made island, Guzma expected some sort of wide-open reception area like on the brochures he saw on display at Pokemon Centers, but instead he was greeted with stacks of brilliant white boxes and the diligent Machoke who were tasked with moving them - the docks.

"The president would rather this meeting stay confidential," the woman said as she directed him to the elevator. It was unclear whether that was an explanation or a warning. Guzma took it as both.

"A special reception for a special guy," he mused as the elevator took them up. This did not elicit a reaction from the Aether employee. "This is more my style anyhow."

They went all the way up, and as they stepped out Guzma was amazed at what he saw: an entire mansion splayed out before him. It lacked the sterile feel he'd gotten from everything else Aether had put their hands on. Rather, it had an elaborate elegance that he in equal parts admired and did not understand.

There were no other people around; he suspected this place was off limits to the average visitor. He grinned. He was far from the average visitor, and clearly someone up top had the brains to respect that.

The employee led him up the stairs and to what he guessed was a tea room. He'd never been in one before, but they existed in fairy tales and those Kalosian period dramas his mom used to watch. The room was as exquisite as the rest of the house. Black curtains hung from the windows, positioned just so to let the perfect amount of sun through. There was one table, for two, dressed with a black tablecloth. Flowers were arranged tastefully in black vases with a gold finish. Everything about the room screamed money, and it was making Guzma more and more aware of how much of it he didn’t have.

"The president will be in shortly," said the woman, and she left him alone to inspect the room some more.

There was something strange about this room - and the rest of the mansion - that Guzma couldn't quite put his finger on. He finally decided that it felt empty, unlived in. Even the Shady House in Po Town had felt homier than this before they’d fixed it up. The Shady House had its share of elaborate fixings, too, but it came from old money. The house itself had existed for generations, they'd learned while digging up old time capsules and family secrets in the backyard. This Aether place couldn't have existed long enough to accrue time capsules or family secrets, so perhaps it hadn’t existed long enough to make many memories at all.

He heard the door behind him open and close, and then:

"You can have a seat, you know."

Guzma turned around quickly to find whom he assumed was the president- a tall blonde woman in heels with a peaceful smile and an otherwise powerful aura. She didn’t look like he expected, but she sure did look the part of the leader of such a stuffy outfit.

“Y-yeah, thanks m’am,” he managed to grumble out before taking his place at the table. As the president walked further into the room, employees shuffled in behind her, laying out tea and sweets on the table. The president herself took a seat opposite Guzma and pointed her gaze straight at him.

Guzma was immediately aware of every imperfection he was displaying. His elbows were touching the table, something that would never fly back in his parents’ house, and he jerked them back to his sides as soon as he realized. His legs were spread in a manner most improper for a gentleman, so he sat up in his chair with his ankles crossed.

But there were parts of him he could not change- his unruly hair, his unkempt clothes, the way his sunglasses (why was he wearing them inside anyway?) felt like they were slowly sliding down his forehead. Next to the president Guzma felt unnaturally small, even though he was physically the larger.

The president didn’t seem to mind. For someone who seemed to dictate order and simplicity in everything she did, she did not turn up her nose at him. Rather, her gaze was warm. Inviting.

“Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the sweets on the table. Guzma all but attacked them, shoving cookies and pastries into his mouth at an alarming rate. He saw a flash of something-disgust?-in his host’s eyes and slowed down, but the damage was done.

While his mouth was stuffed with sweets, the president began to speak. It was a smart strategy, really, especially for someone as noisy as Guzma.

“You may call me Lusamine,” she said, a kind of warmth in her voice that Guzma hadn’t felt in years. “I’m the president of the Aether Foundation, but it’s not as the president that I’ve called you here. What I’d like to discuss is more...personal.”

A wary Guzma looked up from his confectionery.

“I believe you’ve just had someone new join your organization,” she continued. “Someone very important to me. Gladion. My son.”

Of course. That new kid who’d come in with the golden hair and the piercing green eyes. He was quiet, kind of gave Guzma the creeps. Plumeria liked him, though, and Team Skull had never said no to anyone. So, Gladion was this woman’s-

“Wai, you haff a son?” Guzma cried, his mouth full of cookie. He swallowed hard. “Hold up- You can’t- You’re like my age-”

Lusamine only laughed. “I love you for saying that. No, Guzma, I’m well over forty.”

Guzma made a conscious effort to shut his jaw. “Well,” he said with a snort. “You look damn good.”

She smiled him a small thank-you in a way that said _I get that all the time_. “About my son, Guzma.”

“Can’t give him back,” Guzma said, finally taking a break from the food in front of him. “Team Skull’s a family, a safe place, we don’t rat anyone out. Those are the rules.”

“I would never ask you to,” Lusamine responded. “And I understand that...sometimes children think they want some time away from their mother. I only ask that you keep an eye on him.”

“Keep an eye on him?”

“He’s never been on his own before. I’m just worried he won’t get along with the others, or he won’t eat right, or he’ll do something dangerous.”

Guzma laughed, placing his hand on the table as he did so. “Madame President, I can’t guarantee that any of those things won’t happen.” He watched the concern rise in her face. “But I promise ya the kid’s gonna be okay. Team Skull’s made of kids who ran away from home. I keep watch over all of ‘em, and I’ll make sure Gladion stays outta trouble.”

Lusamine exhaled, relieved, and thanked him all over again. Only this thank-you was more genuine, and she put a hand on his arm to show just how much she appreciated it.

“That’s all I needed,” she told him. “To know that my boy is going to be alright.”

“I guarantee it,” Guzma said quietly, looking at her hand. “But- ah- if I’m gone too long they start to worry.”

“Of course. Thank you for coming.” Lusamine let go of his arm, and Guzma began to mobilize almost immediately, as if Luzamine’s touch had been keeping him glued in place. He stood up and made for the door.

“And you don’t have to tell him that his mother’s checking up on him,” she told him.

“Of course, I’ll be real discreet,” he assured her.

“Oh, but you haven’t touched your tea,” Lusamine called.

He turned and raised a hand in resignation. “I’m more of a cocoa guy, ma’am.” He left for Po Town.

\---

It was ridiculous, how much he thought about her on the way back. She was well past his age, but she treated him more like an adult than most younger people did. She treated him like a guest and listened to him. And those green eyes seemed to bore straight through him, even though they weren’t even around anymore. She commanded his thoughts straight up until he reached the front door to the mansion.

There was a commotion inside, and Guzma opened the door to find a couple of his grunts all in a rut, shouting and wildly gesticulating. On the other side of the foyer stood none other than Gladion, arms crossed tight against his chest.

“Ya don’t look like us. Ya don’t rap like us. Why, you ain’t worth nothin’ more than detritus.”

Guzma winced. He’d rhymed unintentionally during dinner once and wowed the entire crew. Now everyone and their pokemon were trying to outdo it. He hoped this trend wouldn’t last long, because the group was beginning to reach for their rhymes.

“What’re all you knuckleheads doing in here?” he growled, shaking the Po Town rain off of him like a wet Herdier.

“Just havin’ a talk, peer-to-peer!” one of them shot back.

“Golden boy here won’t put on the scarf and tank,” said the other. “We’re just tellin’ him he’s steppin’ outta rank.”

Guzma stared at Gladion, who stared right back. His clothes were torn in such a way that Guzma couldn’t tell what was style and what was wear. No one in Team Skull would be caught dead wearing that, and as Guzma had told his crew from day one, image was everything.

“The kid can wear what he wants,” he said gruffly before starting up the stairs.

“But it’s uniform!” came the protest.

“He ain't the norm!”

“Ya got bigger problems than that kid’s damn outfit!” he roared from his place five steps up. “And for Tapu’s sake, quit that rhyming shit.”

The grunts looked at each other gleefully as Guzma realized what had just come out of his mouth. He barreled up the stairs with a frustrated groan.

\---

Soon after their first meeting, Lusamine sent for Guzma again. Same employees, same submarine, same sneaking around the docks. He met her in the tearoom again and she smiled her sweet smile and offered him cocoa and cookies and watched him scarf down her offering as though he’d never eaten anything so wonderful in his life.

“Your son’s fine, just like I keep emailing you,” he said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth with his sweatshirt sleeve.

“That’s not what I called you here for.”

“What, then? To watch me eat?”

Lusamine giggled. “Of course not. But gosh did you look hungry.”

Guzma grunted his agreement, realized he had just grunted at a lady, and attempted to sit up straight as a method of making up for it. If Lusamine noticed this display, she didn’t show it and continued to speak. She stood up as she did so, acutely aware of how Guzma’s eyes were following her every move.

“I’ve been thinking about you.” Well, now. “About your family, as you call them. It must be a lot on you, looking out for so many of them.”

Guzma beamed at the almost-compliment. “It is a lot,” he admitted. “But if I couldn’t handle it I wouldn’t be sittin’ here as their Boss. And I’ve got Plumeria, my second-in-command. Together we can do anything.”

“I see, I see.” She was pacing now. It looked like she was trying to find the right words to say what she wanted, which was odd for someone who always seemed so prepared and precise. “But do you have the finances for the long-term? A year down the road, what’s paying for their food? Their clothes?”

“It’ll work itself out,” Guzma said quickly. He wasn’t prepared to talk business today. He wasn’t prepared to talk business any day, considering it wasn’t his strong suit. “Something’ll come up. Always does.”

“But I worry,” she persisted. “Because, well, you know I am a mother. That’s what mothers do, Guzma. They worry.”

“I already got myself one of those,” Guzma muttered gravely. And she hadn’t been much help as of late. “So you can stop your worryin’.”

“Not about you. You’re strong and smart and independent. I know you’d be fine.” The words didn’t feel right, but Guzma couldn’t figure out if it was because they were coming from her or just from somewhere he didn’t expect. “I’m worried about your children.”

“My kids,” he corrected. “I ain’t a father.”

“Your kids,” she repeated, although it was clear she didn’t understand the nuance.

“It sounds like you’re trying to sell me somethin’,” he said, dunking another snickerdoodle into his cocoa.

“Almost. I want to hire you, Guzma.”

He wasn’t sure if he’d stopped understanding English temporarily, or if he’d misheard. But he shook his head. “What was that? Hire me? For what? I don’t gotta wear all white, do I?”

“Of course not. I rather like what you’re wearing now. It suits you.” He felt his heart rate skyrocket. “But Aether is at a turning point. We need more money, and moreover we need more support from the Alolan community. I’m on the verge of making real breakthroughs, Guzma, on my research into other universes, but-”

“Slow down,” Guzma interrupted. “Other universes.”

“Have you heard of Ultra Beasts?” she asked. He shook his head. “They’re Pokemon, but not quite. And they come from other universes, vastly different from ours. It takes a great deal of energy to move between universes, but sometimes they can. They managed to come to Alola years ago, and I’ve been chasing after them ever since.”

Guzma blinked. Ultra Beasts? Alternate universes?

“They’re incredibly powerful,” she continued, “and I want to see them more than anything. I want to get to know them, like I’ve gotten to know Pokemon from this world. I think I’ve developed a way to capture them like a Pokemon, and from there I-” She got a look at his face. “I’m boring you.”

“No, no!” he said. “This all sounds baller as fuck!” He got a look at her face. “Uh, like, really interesting. I’m just processing is all.”

Guzma didn’t learn about many mysteries of the world growing up on Melemele, so Lusamine’s crash course was a lot to take in. If he was being honest, he’d stopped taking it in halfway through and was more shocked by the way she’d been speaking: candid, uninhibited. It was like he was seeing someone totally different from the woman who kept feeding him cookies.

“Word of this can’t get out,” she said. “For obvious reasons.”

Guzma nodded, although he wasn’t sure of the reasons. But he was missing a more important piece of the puzzle. “But uh- I don’t know about any of these omega beasts or whatever, and I definitely don’t have any money. What do you want from me?”

“I need to give Aether a reason to exist that _won’t_ alarm the general population,” she said. “I need to give people a reason to donate their money, so I can finish my research.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Pokemon conservation just isn’t enough,” she said. “Alolan ecosystems are more or less balanced. But if we had something disrupting that...Aether could come in and clean up the mess.”

“Let me guess,” Guzma said with a smirk. “I’m the disruption.”

“With all due respect, Guzma, you are the most capable mess-maker I know,” she said. Guzma looked around at the spread of crumbs on the table and sheepishly tried brushing them onto a napkin.

“I only need you to cause trouble across the region,” she said. “Steal a few Pokemon, deface public property...I’m sure you could be more creative than I. But all of the Pokemon you do steal, I need you to bring them directly to me to be rehabilitated. You do all of this, and I pay you. Handsomely.”

“So Team Skull ends up looking bad,” he said with a sniff.

“I hate to break this to you, dear, but they already do.” He widened his eyes as he took mock offense. She giggled and sat down next to him, taking a sip of her tea. “So do we have a deal?”

Guzma exhaled. “I need a few days.”

“Of course. I’ll draw up a contract, and you can come back and sign it when you’re ready.”

Guzma leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. He murmured to himself, “Plum’s probably not gonna like this.”

“She doesn’t have to like it,” said Lusamine. “You’re the boss.”

Guzma shrugged. “That’s not really how we work.”

\---

“Tell me about the kid,” Guzma demanded, fidgeting with the chain hanging around his neck. He sat on his throne, legs propped up on the table with little regard for everything else that sat on top of it. One flinch in the wrong direction and his laptop and bottle of something would go flying.

That must have been what Plumeria was worried about, because she ignored him and said, “Sit right.”

Guzma coughed and sat up in his chair and repeated himself. “Tell me about the kid.”

“What kid?” Plumeria asked casually. “We got like sixty.” She was sitting on his bed, legs hanging off the side and swinging.

“You know what kid,” he growled. “The kid you keep talking to. What’s-her-name’s kid.”

Plumeria took a deep breath, and Guzma realized she was looking for the right way to say what she wanted. Guzma always knew the information he was about to hear was sensitive when Plumeria got to be choosy about her words. This was a concept entirely foreign to Guzma, who seemed to enjoy pushing the words that popped into his mind straight out of his mouth.

“He ran away from home,” Plumeria said quietly. “He took his Pokemon and ran.”

“Yeah but why?” he pressed.

“Do you need a why?” she asked. “Why did you? Why does anybody?”

Guzma shrugged. “Kids will be kids,” he suggested.

A silence hung over the both of them, as Guzma began to realize the conversation was a mistake and Plumeria began to boil.

They spoke at the same time.

“Well that’s all I-”

“-you can’t go back there.”

Guzma blinked. “Excuse me?

“Aether Paradise. You can’t go back there.” Plumeria’s gaze was intense, as it always was when she wanted to be heard. Most of the family couldn’t look her in the eye when she got this way, but Guzma was too stubborn to look away. He held her gaze, but he began to fidget with his chain again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Of course he’d told her everything, and of course she didn’t like it. Just like he said. But at their initial discussion he thought he’d made it clear that his decision was final.

“Well, I have to go back there to sign the contract,” he growled.

Plumeria stood. “So you really are going for it. You’re going to let some lady tell you what Team Skull’s really about? Stealing Pokemon. Acting as puppets.” She marched up his makeshift stairs until she was face-to-face with him. “Supporting abusers?” At that Guzma looked away. “Guzma, you of all people-”

Guzma stood up, startling Plumeria. She couldn’t step backwards (she’d trip down the step), so she stood her ground. Guzma’s booze breath assaulted her nose.

“Me of all people,” he said, jabbing a finger into her chest, “has to make sure we can keep this roof over our heads.” She began to slowly back down the steps, if only to get away from the smell. “Me of all people has to make sure we got somethin’ to eat every day. Me of all people has to protect all of ‘em, not just one brat with a weird-lookin’ Pokemon.”

“It’s not just that, though, is it?” she said. “We could find money anywhere- prize money from battling trainers, chucking pyukumuku into the sea, hell, Guzma, if we need help we could ask the kahuna!”

“I’m not asking that asshole for anything,” said Guzma.

“Because he’s not as pretty as Lusamine?” she asked, batting her eyelashes.

“BECAUSE I’M THE BOSS” Guzma roared.

Plumeria narrowed her eyes. Guzma was breathing heavily. She shot him an icy glare, and he felt his resolve waver for a moment. But Plumeria clearly couldn’t spend another moment arguing the subject. She spat out a ‘whatever’ and left, leaving Guzma standing there with his rage and his bottle of something.

The next morning Plumeria was gone, and she’d taken Lusamine’s kid with her. Probably out for a malasada, he told himself.

\---

“I’m not sure about this,” said Guzma, sitting at Lusamine’s tearoom table. The pen was in his hand, the contract right in front of him.

Lusamine tilted her head. “What do you mean?” she asked. Guzma noticed her voice fell and he realized he’d said the wrong thing.

“I- I just- I’ve been thinking about it, and-” In his frustration to find the words, the pen slipped from his fingers. He took a deep breath. “Is this what I want Team Skull to be about? Stealing Pokemon? Ruining lives? Being an Aether puppet?”

“Guzma.” He felt Lusamine’s hand grab at his. It was soft and comforting. Her thumb even ran over his a few times. “You’re not a puppet. You’re my partner.”

He wanted to look into her eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He looked down instead, at their hands. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Making us look bad to make you look good.”

“I don’t see it that way,” she said. “This is a job only you can do.” She lowered her head to look him in the eye. “Look at you- you’re tough. Loud, ah- charismatic, with a following. You’re the only one who could make it believable. Guzma, you are _the_ big bad. No one would dare cross a guy like that. This is your chance to be on top. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He felt himself smile at that. Yes, that’s what he’d wanted for a long time.

“And people love you. You have your whole family, whose lives you’ve utterly _changed_. You’re their hero. To them, you could never look bad. As long as you’re helping them, who cares what you look like to anyone else?"

“Ruining people's’ lives, taking their partners.”

“People don’t care about Pokemon the way you and I do,” she said. “Whatever they lose, they could just catch another. They’re not the partners they are to us. And the Pokemon? They’ll thrive here at Aether Paradise, under my care. You’re doing what’s best for them.”

Guzma pulled his hand away. “Your kid. He ran away because of you?”

“Guzma, you know I love my children more than anything in this world,” she said gently. “He ran away because I- Because I just wanted him here a little longer.”

Lusamine brushed her hair out of her face, her hand stopping to rest above her temple. Something about what she had just said had gotten to her. Guzma saw her normal serenity drain from her face. Pain replaced it, and Guzma had to root his hands to the edges of his seat to stop from reaching out to her. “I guess I deserved this. But they grow up so fast, you know? I just wanted him to stay here forever.”

“But you can’t do that to a kid,” he said quietly. He didn’t stop himself from placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Of course I know you can’t do that,” she said. “I was going to let him go, on his own Pokemon journey. I just couldn’t bear to not see him every day so soon after...”

“After what?”

She smiled at him. “It’s nothing.” A small laugh escaped her as she backed away from his touch. Guzma retracted his hand immediately, amazed that even her rejections were captivating. “I’m not usually this candid with anybody. I guess there’s just something about you, Guzma.”

He wasn’t ready for that. There was something about her, too, that made him feel different. He wanted to be there. He wanted to see her get the things she wanted. He wanted to be the one to give them to her.

He let out a ‘heh’ as he fussed with his watch. “Anytime you wanna talk, Madame Prez,” he said, a smile on his face. “I’ll listen.”

“You’re so good to me,” she said.

“I didn’t even do anything yet,” he said, picking up the pen. He signed the contract with a flourish. “There you are, _partner_.” She beamed at him, and it was exactly what he was looking for.

\---

When Guzma got back to the house, Plumeria was in the foyer. She had apparently just returned, because she was a sopping mess, wringing out her ponytails and knocking the rainwater out of her shoes. When she finished she turned her attention to the doorway, where Guzma was standing with his arms folded across his chest.

“What,” she said.

“Welcome home,” he said. Plumeria rolled her eyes at the false olive branch. “Where’s the kid?” She shrugged. “He left with you.”

“He’s staying somewhere else,” she answered. “He said he didn’t want to be here.”

“What, like he’s too good for us?” Guzma said with a half-laugh.

Plumeria sighed. “Something like that.”

She headed for the stairs, and it hit him all at once. “What did you tell him?” But she didn’t stop to answer. She merely continued up the stairs to her bedroom. Panicked, he chased after her. “Plum, you gotta tell me what he knows. What did you tell him? You just don’t know everything- You don’t know about her! What did you say? Plum, you gotta-”

She slammed the door in his face. He heard the click of the lock and growled. “Real mature,” he shouted before storming off to his own bedroom.


	2. Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guzma and Lusamine get what they want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the seven months between posting Chapters 1 and 2, I graduated, got a job, and learned a lot about myself. While I couldn't always write, getting comments and kudos on my work really got me through the harder days. Thank you, thank you, thank you for that.
> 
> (And thank you to Maggie again for reading through the rougher drafts!)

The first thing Guzma did with his newfound wealth was stock the Skull kitchen with an assortment of delicious goods. Warm drinks, cold drinks, produce and bread and sweets like the family couldn’t believe. The more culinary-minded grunts were given funds to scour the Thrifty Megamart for the makings of a feast, and upon their return everyone eyed the spoils hungrily. Guzma had made it very clear that tonight was cause for celebration.

The manor in Po Town had several rooms that were fit for dining, although they were used only on special occasions - birthdays, holidays, Thrifty Megamart’s monthly microwave pizza sale. Most Team Skull meals were stolen fistfulls of leftovers in front of the refrigerator, or an entire bag of potato chips stuffed inside a bedroom drawer. It’s not that they couldn’t cook; Plumeria herself was a master in the kitchen, some of the grunts could pull their weight as well, and Guzma...managed. It was simply hard to _organize_ the entire group for meals, and so they tended to fend for themselves in that department.

But on this particular evening they had gone so far even as to dress up the Shady House’s dining hall. The table that had come with the mansion was as long as the room, and the grunts began meticulously setting plastic silverware and paper plates and artfully-folded paper napkins on top of it. A few were tasked with crawling the entire town for as many chairs as they could find and then fitting those chairs at the table in any way possible. Someone’s Salandit crawled into the fireplace and warmed the room, filling it with a soft glow. By 6:00 sharp, grunts filed into the dining hall and took their place at the table eagerly.

And at the head of the table sat Guzma, basking in his family’s excitement. The seat on his right was empty, reserved for Plumeria who was still in the kitchen. When everyone but the cooks had appeared, Guzma cleared his throat a few times and the hall went quiet. Their attention wasn’t usually this easily won, but the promise of food was always a heavy motivator. They all looked at him expectantly.

“Bring out the food!” he cried, slamming his fist onto the table. The entire hall erupted in a chorus of cries and cheers as the door to the kitchen flew open with a _slam!_ There stood Plumeria holding the door for her kitchen staff, who entered carrying plates and plates of food.

It was clear that no attempt had been made to put together a cohesive menu, but there was room for every dish in their stomachs. They laid out Slowpoke tail and roasted Farfetch’d with leek next to Tyrunt Nuggets and boxed macaroni and cheese. An assortment of freshly-pressed berry juices sat nicely with cans of carbonated drinks purchased from vending machines. There were heaps upon heaps of rice and stews and comfort foods from homes across Alola and beyond. Grunts began piling all of it onto their plates with a chorus of “ooh”s and “aah”s and “wait till you see dessert”s.

Guzma watched the madness for a moment before shoveling food onto his own plate. The paper was too flimsy to hold everything he wanted, and he cursed himself for not telling his shopping crew to splurge on the heavy duty stock this time around.

When everyone had made their plates, Guzma gave the call for them to dig in. And they did as furiously as a whole herd of Dugtrio. It took until just before dessert for someone to stop chewing, swallow, and ask, “Yo Boss, what’s this all for anyway?”

As a rule, the Grunts knew never to ask where food came from. It didn’t always come from the Thrifty Megamart, and even then it usually wasn’t purchased. Food would just appear in the kitchen when nobody was looking, calling as little attention to its presence as possible. But Guzma hadn’t just called attention to this food. He’d demanded it, and once the question was out in the open everyone in the room realized they were just dying to know the story behind this grand meal.

The Skull boss played dumb. “What are you talkin’ about?” he asked. “Can’t a guy have a casual Thursday night dinner with his family?”

The room filled with cries of “c’mon!” and “don’t do us like that, yo!” Guzma could work a crowd, and he knew it. He crossed his arms and looked down at the floor. “You got somethin’ to tell us!” came the yell. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Plumeria shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

After signing Lusamine’s contract he’d gone immediately to tell Plumeria what he’d done. She didn’t have much to say, claiming she’d said enough already, and that he was the boss so why was he telling her. But he had spent an hour sitting backwards in her desk chair anyway, rattling off all the reasons why it had been a good move.

“This is going to be good for us,” he told her, playing absentmindedly with a tube of mascara. He rolled it across her desk and watched it slam straight into the side of her make-up box. “They’re going to be happy. We’re all going to be happy.”

Plumeria watched him from her bed, arms crossed tightly around her chest. She eyed Guzma as he picked up her mascara tube and began to unscrew the cap. It was nearly empty.

“You need more of this, yeah? I can buy you another one.”

“That one clumps,” she grumbled.

“I can buy you new clothes.”

“Guz,"

“I can buy you a Skitty doll that ain’t ratted to hell and back so you can finally get rid of-”

“Leave Skitters out of this!” she yelled. “I don’t care about the money, and I don’t care about what you think you have to prove to any of us! You’ve obviously made up your mind, so quit bugging me about it.”

“Plum, I need you to trust me.”

“I do,” she said, after a long breath. “I always do, you know that. But it doesn’t mean I like it.”

_She doesn’t have to like it_ , he thought, his attention snapping back to the table of adoring fans before him. _Look how much they do_.

“You guys wanna eat like this every day, yeah?” he asked.

Choruses of “Hell yeah!” “Damn straight!” and “Not if I gotta cook it!” buzzed through the room. “Hey but tomorrow, can we have nachos?” Every grunt turned to their neighbor and began rattling off what they wanted to see on the table in the coming days, sharing their favorite nacho recipes, arguing over which cheese blend was superior.

“Alright alright alright,” he said, waving his hands in the air to get their attention once more. Audience participation was a _great_ tactic for a normal audience, but these numbskulls were anything but normal.

He grinned at them. “I’ve been thinkin’ lately, about us. We’ve done a lot in just two and a half short years.” Among the grunts there were nods of general agreement, cries of assent, mass distribution of skin.

“We moved here. We decorated. We saved up for not one but _two_ WiiUs, and someday B over there’s gonna kick all our asses nightly in _Pokken Tournament_.” A grunt about ten chairs away pulled up his bandana to hide the blush on his face as the kids on both sides of him playfully punched his arms.

“And I think we can all agree that we are the toughest, baddest, _realest_ hardasses this island’s ever seen.” A chorus of cheers. This couldn’t have gone better if he’d used an applause prompter. He was worried they’d be unimpressed at his lack of poetry, but they seemed to be handling it well.

“Well somebody else’s figured that out too, and they told me they’re willing to bankroll us bein’ here as long as we keep doin’ what we’re doin’. But we can’t just sit here in our Sweet Scent. We gotta work harder. We gotta be better.”

“Just tell me what I gotta do, and I’ll do it!” shouted Camellia from all the way at the other end of the table. No matter who she was with, she always stood out as the most vocal. Guzma had always admired her for that, and he appreciated her vote of confidence now.

“Well, that’s a big conversation for dinner,” he said. “But things’ll be changing. Things’ll get harder. But no more scavenging in the dark. We go out there in broad daylight and we show all of Alola how tough we really are.” A grunt from the left side of the table tentatively raised his hand. “Yes, Ruscus.”

“Now by tough, do you mean- like breakin’ the law tough?”

“We do that already, don’t we?” shouted someone else from across the table.

“Trespassing.”

“Vandalism.”

“Child endangerment.” They looked around at each other and snickered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Guzma said with a snort. “I’m talkin’ about causing some real trouble around here. I’m talkin’ about roughin’ up some snot-nosed trialgoer who thinks he and his Z-Ring are better than you! I’m talkin’ about takin’ Pokemon from kids who don’t appreciate ‘em like we do! I’m talkin’ about makin’ Team Skull a household name.” There was another cheer, but it was significantly softer.

Ruscus shifted in his chair. “Stealing Pokemon.”

“C’mon, Rus, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” came a voice that cut like a knife through the evening. All eyes turned on Plumeria, who had been listening intently until this very moment.

Guzma slammed his fist on the table. “God _damn_ it!” He wasn’t about to be undermined, not today. He was the boss, he was in charge. If he didn’t call the shots, then what good was he?

“When are any of you going to learn how to stand up for yourselves? Make a name for yourselves?” he yelled to a hall so silent his voice carried throughout the mansion and to the rainy outdoors. “What is wrong with you? For once in your pathetic lives, do _something_!”

Plumeria rose. “We’re not going to make anyone do something they don’t want to do. Guz, that’s not us.”

Guzma stood up to meet her gaze. He towered over her, but she did not relent. Plumeria remained as unflinching as her prize Crobat. She would not back down from this. And while the fire in his demeanor eventually fizzled out and died, he knew she could hold that icy gaze for weeks, months even.

He sat back down. “Well of _course_ none of ya have to do anything you don’t _want_ to do.” It was a backtrack. They all knew it. But many, including Ruscus, were relieved. Plumeria’s expression did not soften.

“All I can say is this,” he concluded, realizing he was losing them, and fast. “What we gotta do ain’t exactly black and white.” He sighed.

“But we can try everyone’s nacho recipes for dinner tomorrow night.”

The resulting cheer was hesitant, but he had still won them back. Guzma turned his attention back to his own plate. Dessert began to pour out of the kitchen, and he savored every bite that went his way. He tried not to think about Plumeria, who spent the rest of the night pushing the same chocolate-covered rawst berry across her plate with a fork.

\---

As it turned out, Team Skull turned out to be absolutely terrible at stealing Pokemon. Whether it was a general lack of talent for the act or a serious aversion to it, most grunts would show up back at the house empty-handed. On the off chance a grunt did come back with a Pokemon, it was because they’d stolen someone’s cash, bought a Pokeball with it, and caught something in the wild.

The grunts would bring these legitimately-obtained pokemon straight to his room, at which point he would ball his hands up and slam them down onto the arms of his chair, hollering about how much of a bonehead the grunt was until they up and fled the room.

Guzma let the charade continue for about a week until he decided to take matters into his own hands. He rode the ferry to Akala island to take down the first sorry trainer he saw. He picked out his target, an ace trainer with a Kadabra, and challenged the kid to a match. When his psychic type was ultimately overpowered by Guzma’s bugs, he cowered as Guzma loomed over him.

“Now hand him over,” the Skull boss snarled.

The trainer tried to run away, but Guzma snatched him by the back of the jacket.

“I ain’t kiddin’. You gotta gimme your Pokemon. Now.” He spun the kid around so that he faced him, and then Guzma got a clear look at the trainer’s face.

The way the kid flinched away, the look of pure terror in his eyes, all of it sent shocks straight through Guzma’s body, forcing his grip on the kid to soften just enough. The trainer wriggled free and managed to scramble himself and his pokemon away, leaving Guzma alone and empty-handed.

Stealing other trainers’ Pokemon was harder than it looked. Guzma returned to the Shady House to mope in his room. A few hours later, Plumeria knocked on the door and handed him a sack of Pokeballs.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, incredulous.

She crossed her arms. “Don’t ask.”

“Plumes-”

“We gotta eat, don’t we?”

Guzma opened his mouth to speak but stopped short when he heard his phone. Instinctively he reached for his pocket, but it wasn’t there. He whirled around, spying it wedged in the back corner of his chair. He rushed over to check who wanted to get in touch with him.

It was Lusamine, as he’d expected, wondering why she hadn’t heard from him in a while. It had been several days since the money started appearing in his bank account, and he had kept a watchful eye on his phone ever since for further instructions. Now she sent this:

_Just want to make sure everything’s alright._

“You’re welcome?” Plumeria’s hand waving in front of his face jolted him back to reality.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, reading the words of the message over and over. “Thanks.”

Plumeria rolled her eyes and left the sack at the door on her way out.

_It is now_ , was the response he typed, but thought better of it and backspaced the whole thing.

He sat in his chair and ran through every synonym he knew for the word alright. He settled on _perfect_ and hit send.

Then he realized he should’ve told her about the sack of pokeballs Plumeria had just dropped off. Double texting was a risk, but he considered this an important one. _I have a delivery for you._

He put the phone down. He picked it back up. He played a couple rounds of Tapu Run on his phone. A couple turned into a couple dozen. He spent an hour glued to his chair, convinced a response would come any minute.

He fell asleep like that, and woke the next morning to one unread message from late in the night: _I’ll send someone in the morning_.

\---

Guzma was getting used to visits with Lusamine now. His commute was no more glamorous than before, and she received him in her tearoom as always. But the sneaking around and the formality of the visit seemed to roll off of him now, and he felt much more comfortable with his surroundings. He hefted the bag of stolen pokemon Plumeria had handed him the night before on top of the table and settled backwards into the chair with the same ease he would have back at home.

She didn’t seem to notice his poor posture; she immediately focused her attention on the bag. She sifted through the pokeballs, taking each one carefully in her hands, tenderly running her fingers over the smooth surface as if she could tell what was inside just by doing that. Guzma watched the kid-on-Christmas smile stretch across her face as she did this and couldn’t help but feel responsible. Sure, Plumeria had acquired the goods, but he was pretty sure she didn’t want the credit. He beamed at Lusamine.

She let some of them out, too. Slowpoke, Pikachu, Starmie. She delighted in each reveal and returned them to their homes, repeating the process several times before turning back towards Guzma.

When Lusamine looked at him, Guzma reigned his smile in. “They are perfect,” she told him. “Exactly what I wanted. Thank you.”

“Well, uh, you know who to go to to get results,” he said, attempting to be casual. “Me.”

“I knew I made the right choice,” she said.

“What are you going to do with them?” he asked her to mask his joy at her clear vote of approval.

“Love them,” she told him. “Love them and keep them safe from any trainer who might ever work them too hard.” She made to go on, but there was a knock at the door. Men in clean white suits entered carrying trays to set on the tearoom table. Guzma was suddenly aware of the rumble in his stomach. This Lusamine did notice.

“Stay for lunch,” she told him, and then to the men: “A second table setting please.”

“I should probably get back,” Guzma said weakly. “They’re probably wondering where I went off to back at home.”

“Nonsense,” she said as the second plate arrived. “What kind of partners would we be if we didn’t celebrate a job well done? Stay.”

He leaned back in his seat.

“They can wait until I’m done with you, can’t they? Besides, I know you cannot say no to this.” A white suit rushed in and set down a mug of Tapu Cocoa. He brought the cup to his nose and breathed in. No, she was right. He really couldn’t say no.

\---------------

He thought about her all the time. Everything brought about the idea of her: Aether’s popup labs planted around the islands, brochures in every Pokemon Center, gossip about the organization on everyone’s lips. It was a good thing he liked to be reminded of her, because she was hard to get away from.

He wondered if she ever thought about him, even once, during the day. Just once, he wished she would be sitting at her desk, cheek resting on her hand, poring over some boring lab report, and she’d think of something he’d said just to make herself smile.

His favorite part of the day was assessing the progress of Skull Operation: Raise Hell, if only to have something to report to her. His grunts, more often than not, produced no results. Over the course of a month they had managed to steal three pokemon, catch sixteen and lie about stealing them, deface ten buildings with crude slogans and skull emblems, and intimidate one bus stop sign.

The more the grunts amounted to nothing, the angrier Guzma got. He would pound his fists, into the wall sometimes, and send his kids running as fast as they could. Then he’d lock himself in his room with his bugs and his phone, hiding behind guards who checked for a series of passwords Guzma was certain none of his grunts would remember and Plumeria would have zero patience for.

The grunts, in a wild attempt to regain their boss’s affections, redoubled their efforts. The easiest targets, they gathered, were kids just starting their island trials. As such, the grunts were mostly successful on Melemele Island. While Guzma himself refused to go there, he was pleased to hear that the residents of his old home were being properly menaced, or at the very least inconvenienced.

Lusamine invited him often to have lunch in the tearoom, to talk about progress. It usually devolved to discussing other things, as Guzma didn’t have much to report that he did not already double or triple text her throughout the day.

Lusamine would talk to him about her research: what the Ultra Beasts looked like, how she would go about capturing one. How hard it was to open a wormhole, and what methods she had tried. She recalled the years she had studied in Kalos, how she’d spent her time when she was his age, how her fervent studies had led her to her husband. And Guzma listened to it all, even the parts he didn’t like. The entire narrative was a masterpiece to him, a the steps that had led to how she’d become the amazing woman he was spending time with, who wanted to spend time with him.

And Guzma told her about his bug pokemon. She loved to hear about them, how he raised them, how he fought with them. She told him he used the type in ways she had never considered. That made him swell with pride.

After a while, he became comfortable enough to tell her other stuff, too, about his father and running away from home. He told her why he housed all the delinquents of Alola in the first place, and how important that was to him. Somehow, it became even more important to him when she told him, wide-eyed, how much she admired him for his resolve. She told him he was in a better place now, mentally and physically, with someone who truly cared about him.

One morning, when Guzma got to the tearoom, he found her sitting with her head planted firmly on the table. Guzma stood in the door awkwardly for a moment, unsure if she was asleep. But when he saw her whole body heave, and heard the sharp exhale of someone trying not to cry, he rushed over immediately.

Guzma didn’t have much experience with comforting others, but he did his best when Lusamine all but fell into his arms. He rubbed her back and took care not to tangle her hair. He didn’t say a word, not even to ask what was wrong. He just held her as she muffled her sobs against him, and tried very hard not to think about how her breath was hitting his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I called you, I-”

“It’s alright,” he said. “You need some water? Something harder?”

Guzma thought he saw a smile as Lusamine pulled away. He helped her back into her seat, where she took a few more deep breaths, obviously trying her best to keep the rest of the tears from coming out. Guzma’s impression of Lusamine was largely based on how she would normally sit in that chair: poised and proper, with the posture to make a Kalosian noble jealous. Today she was collapsed in it, like a ragdoll. It was jarring.

She made an exhausted motion with her hand in the direction of the other chair, and Guzma took it as his cue to sit.

“Lillie is gone.”

Guzma blinked. “Lillie your daughter?”

“My sweet, perfect, beautiful daughter.” They were words Guzma had heard Lusamine use to speak of Lillie before, but they had never sounded so hollow.

“Gone where?”

“Ran away. But not before stealing lab property.”

“She didn’t come to us.”  

“Of course not.” Lusamine took a breath to ground herself. “She is too fragile for that.”

“We can help you look for her,” Guzma said. “I’ve got eyes all over the island, I could-”

“No, if this is the path she wants to walk, so be it,” she said. “Besides, all children leave home someday, right? This is just part of being a mother.”

“Not for nothing Madam Prez, but this is a complete one-eighty from the last time this, uh, happened.” There was no good way to remind Lusamine that this was not the first of her children to run away. He winced along with her when the words left his mouth.

“I don’t have the energy to grieve for this” she replied, suddenly sitting up and forward. She began to focus on what appeared to be a spot on the wall. He had to say something- anything- to pull her out of her own head.

“It’d probably be good for you to take a break, yeah?”

“The project is over”

“C’mon, you just need-”

She slammed a fist on the table. “There is no _time_ , do you understand that? I am out of time. There is no point in finding Mohn, there is no family left for him to come home to.”

“Woah, woah, woah, what are you talking about-”

“Mohn disappeared several years ago while studying wormholes. All of this is a continuation of his research.”

Guzma nodded. “And an attempt to find him.”

She sniffed. “He clearly does not want to be found.”

“And my two beautiful children turned out to be more like him in the end, hmm?” She let out a hollow laugh. “Look at me. You must think I’m such a...a loser.”

“No.”

“What, then?” She stood. On her feet, she regained some of the poise of the performance Lusamine, the president he was used to. “Everyone I care about leaves. Everything I work on shrivels, fruitless, and dies. I surround myself with Pokemon who love me as long as I take care of them, and that’s the only thing I suppose I’ve ever been good at. What else can you call me?”

Guzma realized that whatever was happening was much larger than he had thought. Gladion’s disappearance was the symptom of a much larger problem. Lillie was the last straw. And now that Lusamine was crumbling Guzma felt entirely underqualified to pick up the pieces.

But he would try. “Human, probably.” She narrowed her eyes. “Everyone’s got stuff, Madam President. If your life’s not perfect, it’s just proof you’re not some kind of weird monster from another universe.”

Lusamine had pressed her lips together so hard her mouth was little more than a line. “I almost wish I were.”

Guzma knew he wasn’t any good with comforting people. He was good with different types of words, sure. Rallying a crowd, motivational speech. But if someone was already down he never knew exactly what to say to pick them back up. Lusamine’s reaction only confirmed this. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to keep trying until he struck gold.

It was his turn to stand. “And, uh, not everyone leaves.” He shrugged. “I’m still here.”

She looked at him for a moment, as if she were considering the weight of his words. A small smile cracked through her scowl.

“Yes,” she said, moving closer to him. “You are still here. Because you are too, too good to me.”

“It’s only what you deserve,” he said. She rushed to him then, and in a flash she was back in his arms. Only this time he didn’t have to feel bad about the fact that he couldn’t stop focusing on her breath on his neck, or the way her hands gripped at the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He breathed into her hair, smelled flowers, and tilted his head so his face could be as close to hers as he could get. It was surreal, after months of convincing himself that being so close to her like this would never happen, here they were making it happen. It was like a goddamn dream.

And then she raised her head up to look at him and it was all over. His lips were on hers- or were hers on his? He didn’t know. All he knew was that her lips were soft and tasted better than he imagined they would. The way she kissed did not surprised him: she demanded his attention. And he gave it, would have given without asking. He loved the insistent way she was touching him, her fingers stroking his neck, his collarbone, feeling every inch she could get her hands on.

She pulled away to say something, and his lips targeted her neck. “As long as- hold on!- As long as there are no children around, I suppose it is time I showed you some other rooms in my house.”

“Lead the way,” he murmured against her skin. She pried herself from him, took his hand, and did just that.

\--------

Guzma continued to go to Aether after that, whether or not he had something to report to Lusamine. While they continued to talk candidly, Lusamine never brought up what had happened the day after Lillie disappeared. Guzma followed suit, not wanting to upset or pressure her. Still, he wanted to say something.

When he was away from her, she was all he could think about. He couldn’t get the feeling of how it felt out of his head, long after the bite marks and bruises had faded from his skin. He hung onto every word she said in case any one of them was a hint that she wanted to mark him up again. He began to sit up a little straighter when he was with her, to choose his words more carefully, to be more conscious of how he presented himself. He wanted to see her notice him, and it felt like she never did.

Lusamine had enough on her plate. While she had abandoned her search for Mohn, she was still after the Ultra Beast she had seen in Aether Paradise. She resolved to pump all of Aether’s funds into finding a wormhole that would lead her straight to that beautiful creature. Guzma resolved to redouble his efforts in helping her get there. Perhaps then, when they succeeded and this all died down, he could tell her how he felt.

Back at the Shady House he kept to himself. Even during dinner, his eyes were glued to his phone. He became unresponsive unless Plumeria waved a hand in between his tiny screen and his eyes. Then he would jump, recalculate, and respond in a gruffness that was becoming all too common in Po Town. His mind simply wasn’t there. It was back with his heart on that artificial island.

“I need to get Lillie back,” Lusamine said one day over a lunch that had been flown in from Sushi High Roller. With fish stuffed halfway into his mouth, Guzma stopped to shoot her a look. “I need to get that Pokemon she stole from me.”

Guzma swallowed. “The one that opens up wormholes.”

She nodded. “Yes, it’s the only way. I’ve lost so much time trying to find another solution, but I just cannot do that anymore.”

He picked at another piece of sushi on his plate. “Why not just grab the Pokemon and leave the kid alone?”

“She’ll never part with it.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Guzma, I already have this worked out.” She exhaled. “Lillie may do whatever she’d like once she hands it over, but right now she is a thief, and we need to bring her in.”

Guzma was not in the business of returning runaway children to their parents. Usually it was the opposite. He wasn’t sure if it was the news or the wasabi that wasn’t sitting well with him at this point, but he stayed quiet.

“The only problem is she has allied herself with some brat,” Lusamine continued. “A girl from Kanto, who is on her island trials. Seemingly a protege of Professor Kukui.”

Guzma sat up at that one. He had met that girl. She was a smug little kid, entirely too confident despite her experience and that thing she wore on her head she called a hat. True, she had made quick work of him at Malie Garden a while back, but it was only because he wasn’t ready for it. This time he would be.

“So my job is to take her down, huh?”

Lusamine raised an eyebrow. “Guzma, I cannot afford any mistakes on this one. You only need to distract her. And while she is preoccupied, send your second strongest to pick up the cargo.”

The wheels were already beginning to turn in Guzma’s head. There was only one good way to distract a Pokemon trainer, he knew, and he absolutely could not wait to set this stage. “Of course I’ll distract her,” he said. “By smashing her into the dirt."

Lusamine tried to stifle a laugh, and his face fell to his plate. “She is very tough.”

Guzma rolled his eyes. “She is eleven.”

“And she is not the focus of this mission. Locating and capturing an Ultra Beast is.”

Guzma lit up. “Hey, yeah! Maybe we could use it to take that kid down.”

“As long as Lillie is delivered to me and the beast is mine, I do not care what you do.”

He nodded. “So tomorrow, then. Here, with the kid. Sound good?”

She brushed her leg against his under the table. “It’s a date.” He tried to downplay the goofy smile that crept up on his face, but she caught it and winked at him. It was deliberate alright. His heart soared"

“I do have a surprise for you,” she said. “Something to help this operation go smoothly. You will receive it on your way out.”

Down in the docks, the usual Aether submarine that escorted him to and from the island was gone. In its place was the sexiest speedboat Guzma had ever seen.

_You gotta be kidding me_ , he typed into his phone.

_I knew you would love it_ , was the response.

Guzma took his new toy for a drive home, roaring with glee as he sped towards Ula’ula. It was an amazing gift, and it was definitely going to help with the next day’s events. With a boat this fast, Lillie would be picked up and shipped back to her mom before she even knew what hit her!

His foot slammed on the breaks. Was that what he wanted? It seemed as though he had gone well past _stretching_ Team Skull’s mission statement to accommodate this kidnapping. And as apprehensive as he was about it, he didn’t even want to think about what Plumeria would say. He sat there in the boat, in the middle of the ocean, scratching his head and trying to decide what to do.

_I’ve already come this far_ , he thought. _I took the boat, the sushi-_ He grinned. _The sex._

It would have felt wrong, he concluded, to leave Lusamine hanging. The president would get what she wanted, and he would get to kick that snot from Kanto into next week, and maybe he would be rewarded when all was said and done. They were in this together. He’d promised that. And he didn’t go back on a promise.

It was regrettable that he would end up kidnapping a kid, even more regrettable that he would be pushing that job off on Plumeria. But he had to do it. He stepped on the gas again and parked the boat back at home.

When he got there, the bottom floor of the Shady House was silent. Guzma thought he heard noise coming from the second floor, and it came to a head right behind the door to the video game room. He pushed the door open to find half his team, Plumeria included, jumping up and down and screaming.

  
Ruscus was at the first gamepad, tapping away at his usual relaxed pace. Next to him was a frantic B, mashing every button his fingers could touch and waving his controller around in what could have passed for an intricate dance.

The game ended. The crowd took one big, sharp exhale. The room was silent for a split second before it all but erupted. Ruscus looked bewildered as Plumeria lifted up B’s arm.

“The new Pokken-Skull Champion,” she announced. “Baby’s Breath!” Cries and chants started as B flushed a bright red.

From his place at the back of the room, Guzma let out a cheer of his own. The entire celebration silenced immediately. Slowly, heads turned toward the door as the Big Bad himself swaggered into the room, completely oblivious to the massive gear shift that had just taken place.

“Ya did it, B,” he said, shoving his fist towards the kid. Instead of making a fist and bumping it back, B flinched.

Guzma opened his palm and drew his arm back. “What, are you scared a’ me?”

B’s eyes widened. “N-n-no, sir!” he coughed out. Guzma’s brow furrowed, and the kid yelped and scampered back towards the crowd, dropping the game pad.

Guzma picked up the gamepad to inspect it for damage. Satisfied, he turned to face the grunts. They could barely fit in the room, packed in there like Wishiwashi, and yet the place sounded empty. All of their eyes were on him, all of them full of a look he knew way too well.

“You’re all scared a’ me?” he demanded. No one spoke. Guzma felt something snap in his head, and in an instant the gamepad was on the floor, in pieces. He didn’t even remember throwing it.

“When have I ever hit ANY OF YOU,” he roared. It wasn’t a question. “I would NEVER lay so much as a finger on any one of you, and you KNOW IT, so STOP acting like I’m going to explode any second!"

“And it’s bedtime,” Plumeria said from behind him. “Everybody get back to your rooms, now, please.” Her words were heavy, but she repeated them the same as she did every night they stayed up late to play video games. “Brush your teeth, drink water. Lights out in twenty.”

The grunts gingerly began to slide out of the room as Guzma stomped around. When the room was just about empty he noticed the pieces of gamepad on the floor and knelt to collect and reassemble them.

“I’ll get it,” Plumeria said, but he didn’t listen. He tried to fit the pieces back together, but one tiny piece of plastic had already splintered and disappeared, and this was a lost cause and he’d have to buy a new one and it was all his fault, him, the biggest idiot this side-

Plum’s hands caught his. “I said I’ll get it. Drop it.” He did so, sitting back on the floor.

“Why did they do that?” he growled.

“Because you pull shit like this.” She picked up all the pieces and set them on the shelf.

“But they know,” he said. She squatted in front of him and waited for the rest of the thought. “They know that I’m doing this- all of this- for them.”

“Are you?”

“Of course.”

She shut her eyes, as though the worst headache of her life had just arrived. Maybe it had. “Look, Guzma, you can lie to anybody else in the world. But not to me.” He pulled his legs up into his chest and grumbled something that wasn’t words.

“What’s up.” Guzma knew it was a demand, not a question.

He sighed. “We got something else to do. I don’t like it. You’re not gonna like it. But-”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I said I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“What.”

“This is it, the last thing we do for her.”

Guzma blinked. “Are you crazy?”

“This isn’t good for us,” she said. “This isn’t good for you. I don’t want this money anymore. I just want you back. And if this job is so bad and so important, then it’s got to be a fair trade.”

Guzma considered the weight of what Plumeria was asking him to do. To help Lusamine this time, and never get to again. And if he couldn’t help her, she probably would stop asking him to come around. In a worst-case scenario, this would be the last time he would ever get to see her.

He could have weighed the pros and cons, made a list, but there was no point. Lusamine needed his help _now_. Everything else he could figure out later.

“Do we have a deal?” Plumeria held out her hand.

“Yeah,’ he said as they shook.

\---------

The plan went off the next day without a hitch. The kid from Kanto was sufficiently distracted, Lillie was shuttled over to the artificial island, and Team Skull took Aether Paradise as their own personal jungle gym.

While over the course of the last twenty-four hours he had lost twice to the snot with the weird hat, the adrenaline from the plan actually working was enough to keep that anger at a manageable level. And as the parade of meddling kids passed him on the roof of Aether Paradise and headed into Lusamine’s mansion, he tended to his damaged Pokemon, confident he had stalled them long enough.

He had just finished spraying the last of the hyper potions when he felt the entire earth shift all around him. The grunts who were with him all looked around them, incredulous. One of them pointed to the sky. All around them, above each of the four islands, wild flashing lights began to appear in the sky. Guzma guessed they were the Ultra Wormholes. He saw a similar one extending from above them directly into the house. The experiment had worked. He barreled into the house, leaving his grunts to gape at the sky.

When he warped into Lusamine’s control room, he realized he had never been there before. He stopped right on the warp pad, amazed at the sight. The room was humongous, as white and elegant as the rest of the lab facilities he had come to know. The white bricks that made up the walls were jarring, because each one appeared to have a different design on it. He squinted.

Those weren’t designs. They were pokemon. Thousands and thousands of pokemon, cryogenically frozen. He recognized some of them, too. Slowpoke, Pikachu, Starmie. Those Pokemon were there because of him. The thought crawled up his spine and grabbed him at the back of the neck.

He shook it off when he saw the massive Ultra Beast hovering behind Lusamine. Nihilego, he remembered she called it. And there stood Lusamine, with a look of glee on her face that was almost terrifying to behold. Guzma didn’t think he had ever seen her this happy, but then again she was finally getting exactly what he wanted. The plan had worked.

But the brats had a plan of their own; the ones who could hold a Pokeball split off to challenge Lusamine, the Beast, and Guzma himself. And as the battles raged, the Ultra Wormhole grew weaker and weaker. Lusamine must have noticed this, too.

“Guzma,” she heard her call. “With me.”

He blinked. She wanted him to go _inside_ that thing? Well alright.

“Yes, ma’am,” he shouted back, and followed her through the hole.

Guzma found himself hurtling through dimensions and came out the other end on his hands and knees, winded and bewildered. The dirt beneath him was dark and coarse, and the bit of it he’d accidentally inhaled made him cough like crazy. He rose slowly to his feet. The place was dark, and it was hard to see even in front of him, but he thought he could make out Lusamine standing just ahead.

“Hey!” he called out. “We made it, huh?” There was no answer, so he began to run.

When he caught up to Lusamine, he found her marveling at where they landed. It was something out of a fantasy movie, he supposed, or more likely science fiction. It was as though they were at the bottom of the seafloor, but they didn’t need to swim, and they could breathe just fine provided they hadn’t eaten any dirt on the way in.

Lusamine had clasped her hands together over her chest. The smile on her face was enormous, and Guzma couldn’t help but smile himself.

“You’re not hurt?” he asked her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Fine,” she said, shrugging him off. “Never better.”

“So the Ultra Beasts are all here, right?” he asked.

“Somewhere,” she breathed. He could tell she was scanning the horizon for any sign of movement. Even though she had taken a moment to enjoy her accomplishment, she never stopped pushing forward. He so admired how badly she wanted this, and how far she had come to get it.

Then, with a shrill, otherworldy cry, large jellyfish-like creatures began to fade in and out of Guzma’s field of vision. They were of the same species of Ultra Beast that had appeared before Lusamine at Aether Paradise. The Nihilego danced in the air, bobbing up and down and waving their tentacles, as if they were beckoning the two intruders.

“I must have them,” he heard Lusamine say from beside him. And then she took off after the beasts. He called for her to wait, but she did not. He sprinted behind her, trying desperately to catch up.

“Come back!” he could hear her call. “I only want to meet you, love you, know everything there is to know about you!”

He tried calling after her, but there was no answer. She had gone so far that she had disappeared from his field of vision. All he could hope to do was keep running straight until he found her again. These creatures were dangerous, after all.

He slowed down to take a breath, and several of the beasts appeared before him.

“You want some of this?” he yelled. “What’d you do with the president, huh? Show me where she is!”

The creatures bounced up and down some more. There was a hitch in their cry that made it sound almost like a human laugh. Were they playing with him?

He realized that what Lusamine wanted more than anything in the world was to have one of these creatures. And although she had not entrusted him with the special kind of PokeBall she had developed for capturing them, he knew a few other tricks for catching pokemon.

He took a deep breath. Then with a wild scream he bolted straight for them. He extended his arms and prepared to tackle one to the ground, but the beast he targeted disappeared before he had the chance. Stunned, he froze. He turned around, and there it was, headed straight for him.

Could a jellyfish even tackle a grown man? He was about to find out. He put his arms out in front of him as a barrier, but the beast slammed straight into him, right in his chest. It knocked him back onto the ground. As he sat there catching his breath, a second Nihilego hovered closer to him. Two tentacles wrapped around him from behind, and suddenly he felt something very soft and squishy cushioning his head.

Guzma started to feel weird, like stomachache weird. He was nauseous and dizzy, and his entire body felt extremely heavy. He tried to get up and walk, but his body just wouldn’t move.

He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He thought he heard the laugh-cry of the Nihilego again, but it was unbearably close. Almost like it was coming from him. It _was_ coming from him. The beast had latched onto his head and would not let go.

He wailed and tried to tug at the creature, but the only response he got was more laughter, more cries. His vision started to cloud over until it made no sense to keep his eyes open. He clamped them shut and balled himself up right there on the ground.

It was impossibly dark inside his head. Once he was there, he couldn’t move. He knelt there, face to the dirt, shaking and trembling. He thought he heard laughter, but it wasn’t the cry of the Nihilego. It was deeper, sincere belly laughter. The coarseness in it made Guzma’s heart rate skyrocket.

He opened his eyes, and Ultra Space was gone. He was kneeling in the corner of a living room, as if he were hiding, while a man sat on the couch and stared at the television. The man’s stomach heaved with every noise that came out of him, and Guzma felt himself wishing he could shrink even further into the corner. He knew that stomach, that couch, that voice.

Guzma’s father suddenly stopped his laughter and sat upright. He turned to face his son, and Guzma felt his breath catch on its way out. In an instant the larger man jumped up out of his seat, grabbed the closest item to him, and headed towards Guzma’s corner. It was the golf club, the giant metal one, and he let the head smack against the legs of the furniture on his way over.

Guzma tried to move his legs, to get himself to stand and run away, but he couldn’t. Something was holding him down, in place, as if he were being wrapped up by an extremely tight rope. His father stepped ever closer, his expression clouded over with anger.

_Move, damn it_ ! He thought. _You can’t stay here_. He writhed and shook, fighting back against his invisible bindings. His father was walking towards him at an agonizingly slow pace. Guzma tried moving his toes- it worked. He tried his feet, his legs. All he had to do was shake himself awake, but his father was stopped right in front of him now. He could barely breathe, barely stand to look up at the figure towering over him.

His father raised the golf club, shaking his head and saying, “The corner? You thought I couldn’t see you there? Guzma, what is wrong with you?”

Guzma yelled and pushed himself forward with his feet. His upper body slammed right into his father’s legs, knocking both of them onto the floor. His father grabbed him, and he reeled from the touch. Guzma managed to knock the club away as he wrestled with his dad. Finally, he kneed his father in the gut and shook himself away from the older man’s grip.

Guzma rose over his father, his range of motion completely restored. He lifted a fist, as though his father were eye level with him and not on the floor howling in pain.

“I said never again!” he snarled. “I’m never letting this happen again!”  
  
He saw the look of anger in his father’s eyes melt into fear. He saw the old features and large stature wash away, and in its place was Baby’s Breath, holding his gut in one hand and covering his face with the other. Guzma inhaled sharply and took a step back.

He felt a touch on his shoulder, and Lusamine was there. Lusamine. That was right, they were in Ultra Space. This wasn’t real. He had to regain consciousness, for her sake. He had to make sure this didn’t happen to her.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, shut his eyes, and shook his head hard. His head was swimming, but he kept going until finally something knocked him back on his butt. The weird cushioning he felt around his head disappeared. He opened his eyes again and he was on the ground of the Ultra Space, panting hard and covered in dirt.

The Nihilego danced around him, but none dared even to come close to him.

“Who told you you could touch me like that?” Lusamine was standing above him, her delicate hands balled into fists. “Grabbing onto me in such a vulgar fashion- I suppose I couldn’t expect anything else from _you_.” She spat out the word, as though even referring to him by pronoun was too close to using the real name.

He blinked. Was this another part of the vision? He looked around. It looked real. Felt real. Lusamine wasn’t morphing into the first girl he’d ever kissed on Hau’oli Beach.

“I- I’m sorry,” he said. “That thing got to me, and I had to shake it off of me. Ma’am, I think it possessed me.”

“Of course it did,” she said with a wave of her hands. “I sent them after you.”

“You what?”

Lusamine sighed, as though she’d explained this to him forty times already. “Nihilego secretes a certain type of toxin that alters the thoughts and releases the inhibitions of its targets. However, sometimes that is not enough. When Nihilego needs something it cannot achieve by poisoning its target, it can forcibly enter itself into a symbiotic relationship with the other organism.”

Guzma shook his head.

“Nihilego can fuse with others, and I wanted to see it happen.”

“So you sent them after me.” She nodded. “Without telling me.”

“Well of course not. What would you have said?”

“NO!”

She raised her hands as if she’d proved her point.

Guzma felt like a child sitting in the dirt, but he was altogether too tired to stand up. He still felt a little dizzy, and something just wasn’t sitting right. He took heavy, slow breaths while Lusamine watched him.

“You do not look half bad for someone who was controlled by a Pokemon not even a minute ago,” she remarked.

“It hurt,” he said hoarsely.

“Well of course it did. Every process in your brain was forcibly wrested from your control for an extended period of time.”

She knelt down to take a look at him. She touched his shoulder the same way she had done before, but it didn’t feel right. She wasn’t checking to make sure he was okay, that much was clear. The analytical look on her face, the way she hummed when she looked in his eyes, all parallelled the sight of a Pokemon Center attendant conducting a medical exam on a lost Yungoos.

Guzma searched her eyes and found nothing in them but an analytical coolness. He realized he was completely alone.

He remembered all the times Lusamine had recounted what she knew about Mohn, how he’d disappeared into an Ultra Wormhole and never returned. He never saw Alola, his family, anything familiar ever again.

Guzma remembered Plumeria and her ultimatum, the way the grunts were still walking on eggshells the morning after his episode. Even before then, his family had stopped inviting him to things. They confided in him less and made sure to keep their voices down whenever he was in a room. Had he not jumped into this hellscape with Lusamine, they probably still wouldn’t want him around.

Lusamine wanted him, but not the way he wanted.

“It looks like there wasn’t any permanent physical damage,” she said, caressing his cheek before rising and turning to the beasts. He felt it burn like she had pressed hot metal to his face instead of her hand. He blinked a few times, but he couldn’t shake it.

“I want to go home,” he said.  
  
Lusamine whirled back around to face him. “What was that?”   
  
“I said I want to go home. I’m tired, I’m in pain, and I’m-”  He stopped cold.

“You’re what,” she said, an incredulous smile spreading on her lips.

“Sick of this,” he said, getting up and kicking at a clump of dirt.

“You’re sick of this,” she repeated. “We finally get here, what we have been working on for months- _months_ , Guzma, and you’re sick of it.”

Guzma shrugged. He jammed his fists into his pockets. “I just thought it’d be different maybe?” She raised an eyebrow. “Like I’d be your partner instead of some variable in one of your experiments. I don’t remember any of this bein’ in the contract!” He yelled the last part, as though her gaze had ripped it from his throat.

Lusamine’s eyes widened, and then she forced out a laugh. “The contract? Guzma, we stopped following the contract the moment we were intimate.”

Guzma exhaled. It was the first time she had acknowledged it happened, and it was in reference to their business agreement.

“What could you possibly be having regrets about?” she continued. “We talked this over for _weeks_! Over and over and over again. There is nothing to feel bad about, Guzma. This is what we want. The power of another world, ours to do with as we please.”

“That’s what you want,” he said. His voice was uneasy, but he dug his feet into the ground. “I want to go home.”

“You aren’t going to help me anymore?” she asked. “You cannot say no to me!”

Guzma avoided her gaze. It was true, he still owed her for pretty much everything. Even if she had used him in her experiment without permission, she’d probably earned that right somewhere along the way for bankrolling his lifestyle, buying him lunches, and telling him how strong and talented she thought he was. She was good to him, she was always good to him, and now he was just going to give up.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said. “I don’t like it here. I can’t.”

“Oh, you could,” she said coldly. “You could, but you’re scared.”

“No!”

“You are, I can see it. I know what children look like, Guzma, I had two of them. They look exactly like you: stupid, and feckless, and _scared_.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“I thought you were different,” she went on. “I thought you were strong. You told me you were strong. But you lied to me, Guzma. You’re not the big, strong man you led me to believe you were, are you? You’re nothing but a sad, scared, little boy.”

Guzma twined his hands in his hair and tugged. Hard. “I want to go home,” was all he said.

Lusamine sneered. “You hardly have one of those anymore,” she said. “So you may as well just pick one of these rocks and start over.”

She turned and left him there in the dark.


	3. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last year since I published chapter 1 of this story has easily been one of the years I've had in my entire life. If you enjoyed the first two chapters, I hope you continue to enjoy this one. Thank you so much for reading. And thank you Maggie, for helping me make this story the best it could be.

Guzma never saw Lusamine again after the kid from Kanto dragged his ass out of Ultra Space and into the blinding light of the Alolan sun. Unsympathetic to his emotional hangover, the kid and her companions tasked Guzma with loading the Aether President up onto a Mudsdale and walking them down the hill. The trek was long and painful, and it was clear they had no intention of making the situation better for him. When the group turned to the Poni Pokemon Center, Guzma kept on straight to the ferry.

Guzma shoved some carelessly-counted pokedollars at the woman at the counter and grunted, “Hau’oli.” Before he had a chance to realize what he’d done, he found himself on the boat back to Melemele Island.

Guzma gripped the arms of his ferry seat as hard as he could, his knuckles snow white. He lost more confidence in his decision with every passing second, and this boat ride was particularly agonizing. But he had handed all the money he had to the lady on Poni Island. His cash would have been useless in Ultra Space, so he had left most of it back in Po Town, along with his ride pager. He tried to look at the other passengers and guess what they were thinking to pass the time, but it didn’t help. In a matter of hours he’d see his parents for the first time in who knew how long. 

Guzma shut his eyes and tried to imagine himself at his bravest. He tried thinking of all the strongest people he knew: movie heroes, Plumeria, the kid from Kanto. What would any of them do in this situation?

When they announced arrival at Hau’Oli, Guzma exited the ship and looked around. It had been years, but almost nothing had changed. His legs felt like lead as he dragged them across town, making a point of observing every tiny detail, old and new. He even took a detour to gaze out at the beach, an old favorite spot of his.

When he finally did make it to the house on Route 2, Guzma stuck one hand in his pocket and rested it squarely on Golisopod’s pokeball. He knocked on the door with the other hand, three times. He swallowed. He waited. 

His mom answered. She looked about twenty years older than the last time he saw her, but it all seemed to wash off when she recognized him. Her eyes grew wide and filled with tears. She threw her arms around him, crying, and ushered him inside. He was reluctant to until she told him that his father was out golfing for the day.  With the two threats of the house gone, Guzma almost felt like he could relax. His mom all but shoved him onto the couch.

It wasn’t long before she set a steaming mug of Tapu Cocoa in front of him. Instinctively he leaned toward it, but all at once he saw the sickeningly-sweet face of Lusamine staring back at him from across the table. He drew away before he even touched the handle, as if the mug was so hot it would burn his fingers clean off.

“You still buying this stuff?” he asked. 

“Of course, it’s your favorite,” said his mom, as though they’d been having the same exchange every grocery day for the last five years.

Guzma pushed the mug further down the coffee table, away from his seat. Even the smell was starting to bother him. 

“Not anymore?” said his mom. “I can get you something else.”

“Yeah, that’d be great-”

“Roserade tea?”

“Maybe just water.”

She filled up a glass and brought it to him, sitting at the adjacent couch. She looked up at him and beamed. “I’m so glad to have you home.”

Guzma winced. Glad? Who would be glad to have their deadbeat, runaway, criminal son back at home? Why wasn’t she madder at him? She was supposed to be mad. He didn’t deserve the cocoa or the water or the way she was looking at him. He didn’t deserve to sit across from her in this home after all the things he’d just dragged into it.

He took a very deep breath. In, and out. And then, “Ma. I have to tell you something.”

They were barely finished with his first few Aether visits when Guzma’s father came home for the evening. Guzma stood up to look him in the eye, but his mom said it was best for him to go to his room and get some rest. Whatever his father wanted to say could wait until morning.

“Besides,” she said. “I’ll bet you can’t wait for a good night’s rest in your own bed.” 

Guzma didn’t like the notion that anything in this house was still his, but his mom seemed bent on forcing this narrative that nothing had changed. He thought about the king-size mattress he called his back in Po Town, but he thought it was best not to bring it up when his mom was trying so hard to make him feel welcome.

He slunk into his old room, which was almost as he had left it years ago. There were two notable exceptions. First, the bed (a passable but regrettable twin), was made. He couldn’t remember if he’d made it before he left, but he would’ve put all the money he had back in Po Town on no. 

The other difference was the dust that had gathered around his trophies and CD collection. Who even used CDs anymore? He’d been gone so long his bedroom was obsolete. He put on an old tank and sweats that didn’t quite fit anymore, throwing his day pants over the back of his chair. He shoved his Skull pendant and jacket in his top dresser drawer. He wasn’t going to be needing them anytime soon. Or ever.

With no more immediate affairs to settle, he crashed into bed. It had been a long day.

The second his eyes closed he was out like a light, drifting off to the kind of sleep where not even the worst kinds of monsters can get to you. Guzma found himself appreciating that as he stood on Hau’Oli beach, and then in Tapu Village, guzzling a lemonade, and then caught in the rain near Po Town. He wasn’t sure why his mind was bringing him so many places, but it was making Dream-Guzma as sleepy as the real thing. He hopped into the first bed he found, burrowing deep beneath the sheets, tugging at the case of a soft, plump pillow. The lights around him went dark, and he felt the light touch of something, or someone.

Fingers curled in his hair, brushed against his face and arms. Two soft legs wedged themselves between his. He reached out and felt someone nestle into his chest. He stroked their hair lazily, eyes still shut. Their hair was soft, and long, and went all the way down to their -

Dream-Guzma opened his eyes and saw  _ her  _ smiling up at him. She planted a kiss on his chin. He tossed and turned and writhed to break free of the embrace, but she wouldn’t let him.

Real-Guzma opened his eyes and saw the first light of dawn peeking in from his bedroom window. The blankets were strewn about the floor, and he was breathing hard. He leaned over and pulled the blankets up and over his body, but he couldn’t get back to sleep. Groggily he grabbed his phone and began flipping through his messages.

There were five missed calls and eleven texts from Plumeria. Some of the grunts had also sent short messages voicing their concern. Guzma scrolled through them, reading but not responding.

He didn’t listen to any of her voicemails, but Guzma could tell Plumeria was worried just from the novel she’d written via text. He lay there, reading and rereading Plumeria’s texts until he had committed them to memory. 

_ Hey. Just so its on record if you’re not home for dinner tonight Im going to whoop your milf loving ass _

_ A and I have this nacho thing down pat _

_ Heads up the kids coming and shes pissed _

_ You probably dont get cell service wherever you are and if you do this is gonna cost you but I am. Really mad at you right now _

_ Also I told you so _

_ I know you hate the kid but she’s the only one who can bring you back so I asked her to _

_ Shes real G. Shell bring you back. See you soon _

_ Cant wait _

_ Were having a long talk about skull when you come back _

_ Call me when you get out of ultra world I can come pick you up _

_ We dont have to talk right away _

Guzma read them over and over and drafted multiple responses. He never hit send. Instead he sat there tugging at his hair until he heard activity outside his door. Groggy and still a little disoriented from being back in town, he wandered out to the kitchen. His mom was frying up some eggs, and his father was sitting at the dining table, glossing over the morning paper. 

“Guzma,” he said, never looking up from his paper. Guzma saw the front page: a feature on the mess at Aether.

“You’re up early,” said his mom. 

Guzma sat down across from his father and asked over his shoulder to his mom, “What’s for breakfast?”

“Scrambled,” she said gently, coming over and scooping some eggs onto his plate.

He forked some egg into his mouth, barely taking time to taste or chew. But it felt good. Something about this felt right. 

Guzma had made it clear to his mom that he would not breathe a word of what he’d told her to his father. She seemed to understand, although she’d mentioned several times that “he’s gotten much better.” Guzma decided he’d be the judge of that.

“This isn’t your fault,” was all his mom would say. She said it that first night, and anytime after Guzma had a moment and wanted to talk. No matter what he told her, that’s all she’d say. “None of this is your fault. Who wouldn’t have done what you did?”

He couldn’t help but think that wasn’t a good excuse for going and doing it anyway.

Guzma had lost track of the days as he milled about his parents’ house. He took long walks. He spent nights in. He went out back to let his Pokemon roam for a while. Each day the pile of unanswered texts from Plumeria grew steadily until one day she sent her final message:

_ Fine. Fuck you. _

There was something about Plumeria, about Skull, about the whole thing that left a bad taste in Guzma’s mouth. He couldn’t bear to go back to them and tell them how he’d sold them to a woman who was  _ insane  _ for the chance to be the Lillipup in her lap. He saw their faces- disappointed, betrayed, terrified- in his dreams, looming over his bed at night in the shadows cast by his bedroom furniture and the street lamp outside.

Early one morning he couldn’t stop moving, so he took a walk to Hau’oli. He spent some time at the beach. He kicked off his sneakers and let his feet press down deep into the sand.

He breathed in and out with the ebb and flow of the waves, and that seemed to help. He watched the sun rise over Ten Carat Hill and kept moving.

On his way home he took a detour to the only place that was open this early: the Pokemon Center on Route 2. The man behind the cafe counter recognized him before Guzma even saw him.

“Is that- Guzma?” The old man laughed a full, hearty laugh. “The prodigal cocoa consumer returns!”

Guzma stared at him for a moment, jaw open. That old man had been serving up drinks at this very location since before Guzma’s parents had moved into the little house down the hill. And here he was, greeting Guzma like an old friend. Did he not know what Guzma had been up to, or did he just not care? Finally the punk snorted. “You must’ve had a shitty few years without your best customer, old man.”

The barista only shrugged. “I suppose we can pick right back up where we started, then. The usual?”

“You got any of that pinap juice?” Guzma asked, taking his usual seat at the end of the bar.

The barista laughed. “And you’re calling  _ me _ an old man.” But he served Guzma the juice just the same. It came with a tiny bendy straw that Guzma had never seen before because you don’t drink hot beverages out of a straw.

“You got bigger,” the old man remarked.

“That’s what kids do,” Guzma retorted, staring off at the stand of brochures on the other side of the bar. Something had caught his eye, so he stood up to take a closer look.

He pulled a brochure with the familiar Aether insignia from its home and flipped it open. Large, beautiful pictures of the conservation center were printed on the glossy paper. There were a few blurbs about their work - a mission statement, a description of the conservation deck. He scanned it until he got to the last part:

_ Aether Foundation: Leading the world in Conservation, Preservation, and Protection. While Aether is dedicated to the well-being of Pokemon under its care, our employees are always on the lookout for Pokemon to protect in the field. Safehouses and trailers have popped up around Alola, where Pokemon taken and mistreated by Team Skull are rehabilitated and ultimately sent to Paradise to live out the rest of their days in peace. _

It’s not like he hadn’t seen it before. It’s not like he didn’t know that he’d signed Skull’s legacy away. But to actually  _ see  _ the one-line smackdown in an old Aether brochure, as though Skull wasn’t even important, as though they were only a step above a footnote, hit him hard. Without realizing it he’d tore the brochure in two. He stared down at the two strips in his hands and realized he’d torn it right across the portrait of the president. 

“Guess you saw in the news,” said the barista. “The corruption in that place was awful.” Guzma brought the two pieces of broken brochure back to his seat and took another sip of his juice. “If you ask me you shouldn’t trust  _ anything  _ like that- covered in chrome and too good to be true.” 

Guzma balled up the two pieces of the brochure, if only to stop the two halves of Lusamine from beaming up at him.

Guzma couldn’t even finish his juice. He just wanted to be home. He reached for his wallet, but the barista told him this one was on the house. (“You just promise to come back, alright?”) He ran back to his parents’ house, past his mom on the way in, slammed the door to his room shut. He grabbed his sweatshirt from its place in the top drawer and an old red marker from his desk. He tossed his sweatshirt out on the floor, the Skull emblem side up, and uncapped the marker.

Guzma took a few breaths before he finally brought the marker down on the S. He was furious as he scribbled, and the more he did so the harder he pressed down on the sweatshirt. A low growl started in the pit of his throat and rose into a violent, wordless wail. When he realised that the magic marker did little more than stain a perfectly good sweatshirt he stopped his frenetic strokes and yelled again, backing into the bed frame. He sat there, arms hugging his knees to his chest, and sobbed.

After a few moments, there was a knock at his door, and his mom asking, “May I come in?”

“Go away,” he said, hoping to any of the Tapu who were listening that she didn’t catch the way his words hitched in his throat on their way out.

She opened the door anyway. When she saw him she rushed to him and knelt down. She reached her arms out and pulled him close to her. Her embrace was warm, and Guzma did little more than cry into her. She began to cry, too.

They sat like there for what felt like hours before Guzma calmed down and realized what the problem was.

“I can’t stay here,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“It’s only gonna get worse.”

“Guzma, you just got back. It’s only been a week. Please-” He squirmed out of the hug and stood up. She stood up with him. “Please just talk to me.”

“I did, Ma. It didn’t help. Moving helps. Being outside helps. I think I just need to drag my ass to places and do things.” 

“Don’t say ass,” she said between sobs. He snorted.

“Point is, there isn’t much to do around here but stay away from pops and think about all the things I’m not doing,” he said. “I’ll go crazy. Me’n all my bugs.”

“I know,” said his mom, taking deep breaths. “I know. I just- I missed you so much, and now you’re here, and I just never want you to leave again.” Guzma’s hands balled into fists so tight that his fingernails began to dig into his palms. 

“But I know that’s stupid,” she continued. “Of course you have to leave. That’s why we have children in the first place, so they grow into strong adults and do amazing things.” She was smiling now as she rested her hands on his shoulders. 

“I’m not leavin’ forever, Ma,” he told her. “I’ll visit. Stop cryin’, alright? You’re gonna get me started again.” She exhaled in an almost-laugh and hugged him close. He gingerly put his arms around her this time, and he felt bad when he was the first one to break away.

The next morning he thought he’d leave before the sun was up so he wouldn’t have to see his mom cry again. When he went into the kitchen he saw his sweatshirt on the dining room table. Two pieces of red fabric were stitched over the Skull emblem in a giant X. He put it on before he left.

Guzma spent a few nights drifting from island to island, staying at motels and Pokemon Centers when he ran out of the cash his mom had left in his jacket pocket. He fought trainers, but he couldn’t find enough battles to keep him in the red. Though he wasn’t in Team Skull anymore, he found that most trainers were still intimidated by him, especially the younger ones. It was his height, probably, or the way he snarled at everything that moved, or the fact that everyone knew him as the man who ran a gang for three years.

One night he saw on the news that the Pokemon League had finally crowned its first champion. The takeout he was eating spilled out of his mouth and onto the floor when he saw who it was: the kid from Kanto.

He sank down further into the couch and watched the whole program. There was footage of all five of her battles, small interview clips from the Kahunas and captains about how they’d all suspected how promising she’d be. Even Hala had nothing but glowing praise for her. He thought for a moment if that could’ve been him if he hadn’t been...wherever he was now. 

The program mentioned that there was to be a festival in Iki Town celebrating her victory the following evening. “Everyone she’s met along her travels is invited,” said the newscaster, “because they’ve all contributed to the making of such a promising young trainer.”

Guzma scoffed. Maybe not  _ everyone _ she’d met. But he couldn’t help but remember something his mom had said when he’d told her about Ultra Space.

“You should tell that girl who saved your life how much it means to you.”

“She wasn’t doing it for me,” he’d said. “She doesn’t want to hear that from me.”

But now, staring at a still of her beaming with her title-winning Pokemon, he wondered if maybe it would help. He got on the ferry back to Melemele the next morning.

His mom was happy to see him again so soon and flung her arms around him as though a week had been a decade. His father remained on the couch. He nodded once and went back to his beer.

“I figure you’re right, Ma,” he said, setting his bag down on the kitchen counter. “I figure I oughtta tell that Alolan champ what’s what.” 

“You’re going to the festival?” asked his dad from the couch.

“Yeah, something wrong with that?”

“I don’t think the invitation was extended to someone like you.”

Guzma whirled around instinctively, and his fist met the marble of the kitchen counter. He opened his mouth to speak, but he felt his mom’s hand grab onto his wrist. Not in this house, never again. He sighed.

“Maybe so, Pops,” he said quietly. “But I can go and see anyway.”

“Careful not to scare the children,” he heard his father shout as he turned to leave. Guzma stomped down the front steps of his house as the door slammed behind him. He made the familiar hike to Iki Town, but he got as far as the base of the hill before his father’s words caught up to him.

He caught a glimpse of who was up there: Hala and his grandson, that brat Ilima, and all the other captains. In the middle of the bunch stood the kid, beaming. It was a nice picture, so free from stress and conflict. If he went up the hill now he knew it wouldn’t stay like that. With a heavy sigh, Guzma turned back and went home. His father was up watching television.

“Back so early,” his father muttered from his place on the couch. “That’s a nice change.”

Guzma grunted a response and headed towards the kitchen for an evening snack.

“If you don’t mind me asking, son, how long are you planning on staying this time?” 

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m only here because I have business on the island.”

“There is one thing that’s bothered me” his father pressed. “You’ve been in and out for two weeks now, and I’ve yet to hear you apologize.”

“Apologize,” Guzma repeated, his tone flat.

“For hitting me,” said his father. “All those years ago?”

Guzma’s fists clamped so tightly they started to hurt. His whole body shook, but he could not move from his spot in the kitchen.

And then, “It really hurt, you know.”

Guzma saw red. He lunged toward his father, who backed away immediately. Guzma grabbed onto the back of the couch, if only to hold himself back.

“You want an apology?” he yelled. “Here’s one: I’m sorry I let you think you could always take advantage of me for the first thirteen years of my life. I’m sorry I ever ran away and left Ma here alone with you. I’m sorry that one whack with your club wasn’t enough to get it through your thick skull that-"

The creak of the front door opening shut him up immediately. Guzma and his father froze in position: father faced towards the television, Guzma with his back to the door. 

“Sorry,” came the voice at the door. “Am I interrupting? The door was open, so I just…”

As the voice trailed off, recognition washed over Guzma. He whirled around to find the kid from Kanto standing in the entryway of his home.

“You!” he shouted. This was not how he had wanted this meeting to go. He growled, but the kid didn’t shy away, only looked at him with an expression that betrayed sudden realization. 

“It’s fine,” he muttered. “Just meet me at Hau’oli beach.” He stormed out, leaving his father to play the host for their guest. Although it felt a little late for a beachside confrontation, Guzma remembered that the little weirdo liked to do her adventuring late at night. He shrugged. Maybe she was still running on Kanto time.

\---

She won the battle, because of  _ course _ she did, because she was Kukui’s perfect little student, because she was the strongest trainer in all of Alola, and he was...a mess. He didn’t know why he tried.

Guzma found himself walking back home, dragging his feet and kicking up rocks and dirt. He almost walked in, too, before realizing how he had left things with his father. The light was still on inside. He decided it was a little too early to head back, so he kept going, toward the Pokemon Center.

The old barista was there at the cafe, cleaning the counter. Guzma walked in and took his usual seat.

“Don’t you ever sleep, old man?” he asked. The man chuckled. 

“What will it be tonight, Guzma?” he asked. “Old people juice or something warmer?”

Guzma sighed. “Just a water,” he said, slumping over the counter. The old man nodded and served him one. 

The Pokemon Center was relatively empty, which made Guzma feel at ease. He didn’t want to recognize anyone and then, even worse, have to talk to them. The old man seemed to understand that, and he said not one word as Guzma sipped his water through the straw. He just kept on polishing his glasses.

He didn’t want to go home, but he had run out of money, so he couldn’t spend his time anywhere else. He’d alienated all of his friends, and even his enemies who may have pitied him enough to give him something to do. His phone hadn’t buzzed in days. His father’s voice, the Pokemon Center pamphlets, the kid from Kanto’s gaze all burned into his mind as he thought about just how much he hated being on Melemele island.

There really wasn’t anyone he had left to turn to, save for the old man at this Pokemon Center whose actual name he realized he didn’t even know. He brought his head down on the counter, his forehead hitting the finished wood with a decisive thud. He stayed like that for some time until the old man decided to say something. 

“You doing alright?”

Guzma didn’t move. “Fine.” 

The old man sighed. “I know I’m just the guy who pours your drinks, Guzma, but I can tell when something’s wrong.”

“Why do you care?” demanded Guzma.

“I care about all my customers.”

Guzma sat up straight. “Do you even know who I am, old man? Do you know what I did? Those Aether goons? I let them do that! That smiling lady on that brochure? I worked for her! I kidnapped and poached Pokemon so she could cryogenically freeze them in preparation for the day she brought about the inevitable demise of this plane of existence!”

The nurse and few late-night adventurers were starting to stare. The old man, on the other hand, quietly set down the glass he was polishing. Guzma felt like he had to fill the silence with something.

“And I was okay with that! I let that happen! It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t said yes, if I’d just walked away. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because I. Am. A. Pile. Of. Trash.” 

With every word of the last sentence, Guzma pounded his fists into the bar. When he finished he was lurched over it, out of air and breathing heavily. Every part of him felt hot, like he was about to explode. The look on the old man's face made him realize he already had. 

With a snarl he turned and walked out. 

Guzma wandered the area around the Pokemon Center aimlessly, pacing and growling and yanking at his hair. None of it helped, but it was better than staying still. Everything was familiar to him again, as it had been when he was a child. Every aggravating crack and crevice on Melemele Island served to remind him just how hard he'd worked to get away, only to be pulled right back again. 

He found himself heading back towards Hau’Oli. His only thought was getting on the ferry. Who knew what would happen after? Maybe the boat ride would calm him down enough to think up a better plan.

While Melemele was a small island, people were still out and about at this hour. The sun was only two hours away from rising, but people were up. Jogging, training, other things people who had their lives together did. He tried to ignore them, but it was almost impossible. Every breath, every cough, every sneaker pounding on the concrete sidewalk only served to piss him off.

He stopped just short of the ferry terminal, unable to bring himself any further. He felt like a cart on an amusement park ride, following the same convoluted circuit over and over and over again. Was there a point to leaving the island, or would he just end right back at his parents’ house?

He was shaking now. The joggers and trainers paid him no mind. He was practically invisible to them, but he didn’t know for how long. He could feel something in the bottom of his throat, and it was rising fast. A roar? A scream? Some unholy combination of words to spew at anyone who came near him? His hand creeped up to his hair, tangled in it, and yanked. He didn’t notice it until it really started to hurt. 

“Fuck,” he spat. “ _ Fuck! _ ” He needed to calm down. How could he calm down? His mom used to tell him to count while he breathed. It was some bullshit. He couldn’t do either right now; how was he supposed to do both at the same time?

He stood grabbing at his hair, breathing as heavy as a tauros, desperately searching for some crack in the ground interesting enough to focus on. All he found was a rock, which he punted halfway across the sidewalk before it made a clacking sound that he should have found satisfying.

When he looked up he noticed the terrified face of a jogger who had stopped. To help? To laugh? It didn’t matter. Guzma turned tail and ran. From behind him he could hear footsteps keeping pace with him. The jogger? What the hell did he want? All Guzma did was kick a rock.

He stopped and spun around, to yell or scream or otherwise scare this nuisance off. He could barely get a breath in before a fist connected with his jaw. 

The pain shot through his body like lightning. He shut his eyes and shook his head. When he opened them, there was no jogger in sight. There was Plumeria, with murder in her eyes.

“You done?” she asked.

He opened his mouth, but what could he say? 

“B told me I’d find you here. Said he saw you on the beach in the middle of the night a few weeks ago.” 

He blinked. So people had noticed him moping. 

“You’re going to take me there. Now.”

The walk to Hau’Oli beach was impossibly silent. Guzma couldn’t even bring himself to look at his best friend. He just lumbered beside her, eyes fixed on the sidewalk in front of him. His jaw still smarted like hell. When they made it to the beach, he sat down cross-legged in the sand, facing the ocean and tracing an x mark in the sand with his finger over and over again. She sat down beside him and hugged her knees to her chest. 

They sat like that for what seemed like forever. Guzma finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Plum I’m-”

“An asshole? I know.”

He gritted his teeth. “Sorry,” he growled. “I was going to say sorry, even though you’re the one that punched me.” 

She made a start towards him and he flinched. 

“You deserved it,” she muttered.

“I know,” he said. “Still hurt.” Another eternity went by.

“I should’ve come to you,” he said. “I should’ve come to you right after I got out of Ultra Space. But I didn’t. I was wrong. I was embarrassed. And-” Guzma could feel his fingers curling up into his palms. He squeezed, tightening his fists until he could barely breathe.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Plum, I was scared. I’m still scared.”

“Guzma, you’re on Melemele island. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“She tricked me. She turned me against you, against everyone. She made me feel like I was strong, and great, and worth something, and just when I was finally starting to believe it she took it all away. I sold out for that? What good am I to anybody?” 

Plumeria let go of his shoulder. She was quiet for a long time.

“I was scared too. Still am.”

Guzma exhaled. “I know, because I-”

“Of losing you. First I thought you were gone forever. Like that devil woman had pulled you back into the hell-hole she crawled out of and eaten you for dinner. Then I heard you were safe, but you never texted me back. Now B’s telling me you’ve been here this whole time. Hiding from me.” 

“Because I thought you’d be mad.”

“Of course I’m mad, you dumb jerk!” The murder in her eyes softened to assault when she saw him wince again.

“We don’t do that, Guz. If we hurt each other, we talk it out. That’s what best friends do.”

“We’re still friends?”

“C’mon.” She punched him in the arm. “That never changes.”

All at once Guzma realized how stupid he’d been. He reached an arm over to pull her into a hug. Plumeria grabbed him by the waist and squeezed as tight as she could. 

“Just don’t ever pull this shit again.”

He smiled. “I’m not planning on it.”

When they finally let go of each other, Guzma sat back and watched the waves come in. 

“So, uh, what are you up to?”

“Training,” she said. “With Nanu. He thinks I have a shot at Champion.”

“No way.”

“Yeah. Says if I work hard enough I can pull it off.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.” 

“And what about you?” she demanded. “You need something to do. An outlet.” She sighed. “And you  _ need _ to get off this island.”

“Yeah.”

“I know you think the Pokemon League is a bunch of snubbull, but I have an idea. When was the last time you were on Poni Island?”

“Hm. Years.”

“You should go. Lots of trainers waiting to get their ass kicked at this place called the Battle Tree.”

“Sounds awesome,” Guzma said. “But I can’t get to Poni Island. I’m broke.”

Plumeria sighed. “You’re a trainer, Guzma. Have you heard of this thing called a ride pager?” She reached into her backpack and pulled one out. “Oh, and this too.” She handed him a wad of cash. “You left this at home.”

“Plum, I-”

“You can only have this back if you promise to stop wallowing on this beach.” She locked eyes with him. “There are plenty of beaches on Poni island that are just as good for that.”

He hugged her tight. “I’m gonna try to do a lot less wallowing.”

They talked until the sun came up. When he was ready, Guzma called a charizard. He climbed on, and with one last salute to Plumeria, he took off for Poni island.

On Poni Island there was a hostel for young battlers who wanted to test their mettle at the Battle Tree. Guzma found himself bunking with two tourists from Kanto who looked to be about his age. The one in the black shirt was super chatty. The one in the cap said not a word. When he encountered them in the ring, he always lost.

But Guzma found a new identity for himself at the Battle Tree, taking down trainers on his terms. Sometimes he won, sometimes he lost. Sometimes the champ would show up and they’d team up to wipe the floor with those Kanto tourists. 

Sometimes he wallowed on the beach. Sometimes he left Poni island. Sometimes he went back to Melemele to challenge the big Kahuna. Sometimes he’d get in some freestyling with Hau and B. Sometimes he enjoyed a warm mug of Tapu Cocoa in the peaceful silence of the Route 2 Pokemon Center.

Life wasn’t great, but it was getting better.


End file.
